


Witchcraft, Wards and Woven Ties

by Shadowed_AngelWings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Cursed Dean, Dobby Lives, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Hogwarts, Slight Canon Age Difference, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 05:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11224053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowed_AngelWings/pseuds/Shadowed_AngelWings
Summary: What would you do to protect those you love? Would you accept help from the one being you normally despise? Dean becomes a danger to those he loves and must figure out how to save them. Harry uncovers a betrayal and finds some family truths that have him fleeing to America. What happens when these two worlds collide? It will take Harry accepting what he finds and Dean compromising on his beliefs. They will need to work together to save them all. Is it possible?





	Witchcraft, Wards and Woven Ties

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Supernatural Fic and I choose a crossover - what was I thinking?!   
> I will try to update weekly, but I'm studying Nursing so it may differ on the updates.   
> I will add additional tags was they are needed - some are a surprise!

The slamming of the Bunker main door reverberated through the entryway, temporarily drowning out the constant questions from his brother following him down the stairs.

“Sam!” Dean growled as he headed down the hall towards his sanctuary, “For the last time I am fine!” 

Having got back to the bunker after their last hunt, he was in sore need of some privacy and to deal with his wounds in peace. Turning the corner, he could feel eyes on his back and heard soft footsteps behind him as he approached his door. 

Cas.

He should have expected it of course. The Angel wasn’t able to join them on their hunt and, having seen the look on Cas’ face when he arrived home; Dean knew he wouldn’t give in as easily as Sam.  

Refusing to admit he needed help, he opened the bedroom door and turned in the frame to face Cas. 

“Dean.” There it was; in one word Cas managed to convey his worry as well as his exasperation for Dean’s stubbornness.  It was a familiar dance for the two; sidestepping around the real issues. Which was fine for Dean - he was still coming to terms with admitting certain self-truths to himself, let alone voicing them out loud to anyone, especially Cas. 

Squaring his shoulders and bracing for the argument sure to come, he crossed his arms fighting to keep the pain from his expression.  

“Hey Cas, what’s up?” Dean strove to keep the neutral tone in his voice, unwilling to let his mask slip. 

“Dean, I am not unintelligent, please do not treat me as such. I can tell you are injured, worse than Sam, and as such, I wish to help you in any way I can.”

Cas looked at him with an equally stubborn expression - his lips forming a thin line, sharp blue eyes narrowing and fists clenching at his side.  

Panicking as he felt the adrenaline draining from his body, Dean forced himself to calm down - he needed to get the door to his room closed before losing his willpower to refuse Cas. He badly wanted to accept the offer, but he didn’t dare. Not now - possibly never. 

Tilting his chin up slightly he slowly moved his feet backward as he spoke, “Cas, it’s no big deal, just a few scratches - nothing a couple of stitches and some sleep won’t fix. I can handle it by myself.” Ignoring the pounding building in his head, he turned around and walked over to his bed; sliding the full duffle bag off his shoulder, hissing under his breath as he felt his wounds protest the movements. 

“Dean I can hear you, and it would be beneficial for you to have me help tend to your wounds,” came the insistent response.

Dean turned to see the Angel blocking his doorway. He didn’t take a step over the threshold into his personal space - although judging by his body language, he was barely restraining himself. Raising his eyes to Cas’ he fought the sharp intake of breath at the expression. Cas’ head was tilted, and his piercing blue eyes were squinting, reaching inside him to his very soul. His mind was immediately thrown back to when he first met the Angel and how he felt, having those blue eyes seek out and know his greatest fears.  

He panicked slightly - not wanting the Angel to look too long- and looked off to the side, focusing on the room, not Cas. He belatedly realized the Angel was talking to him, “…do not understand the problem. Why will you not accept my help, Dean?” 

Crap! He had not been paying attention and felt a bit on the back foot, a feeling he hated, not knowing what he was thoroughly answering. Taking a chance that it was just Cas asking why he didn’t want his help, he lifted his arms and moved them around. Sweat from pain started to bead on his forehead and down his back. Pushing down the pain, he bent over to hide his face and began untying his boots, closing his eyes against the sudden dizziness.  

Glancing up through his eyelashes at the now silent Angel, he raised his eyebrows and spoke slowly, concentrating on his laces and not the pain radiating through his body and head. “Cas, seriously man, it’s just some scratches and a few little cuts that I can stitch in my sleep.” He could hear his voice rising in his panic to get the Angel to leave, but couldn’t bring himself to care, “If I need your help I will call, now stop hovering and go bother Sam with the mother hen routine!” The last bit fell from his lips in a shout as he lowered his head again and breathed in slow and shallow.  

Hearing no response, he looked up to watch Cas sway a little in the doorway as if his words had physically wounded the millennia-old Angel. Watching as the blood drained from Cas’ face, his insides squeezed; the pain nothing to do with his injuries. Inwardly apologizing but outwardly stoic, Deans gaze caught on those blue eyes once more before Cas stepped back purposefully, closing the door with a near silent click.  

Well, that was that. 

He knew after what happened today it would be hard, but he didn’t expect it to be so damn painful. 

Dean snorted at himself. Honestly, did he expect it to have gone all rainbows and unicorns? 

Snorting under his breath again, Dean toed off his boots and, instead of collapsing on the bed - heaven as that sounded - he made his way slowly towards his supplies. 

Bracing himself on the dresser, he raised his blurry eyes to the broken mirror, steeling himself against the image that appeared, blinking rapidly to focus as best he could.

Eyeing the bloody, battered and bruised reflection, Dean contemplated for a split second revoking his decision to clean and stitch up all by himself; then remembered why he sent Cas away in the first place and cursed his life. Swaying just slightly, he planted his feet further into the floor and straightened slowly. His left arm reached out for the scotch bottle that would numb the pain and hopefully if Dean was lucky, his brain as well. Too bad there is nothing that can erase the memory of the past 24hrs - doing that would change nothing, if anything, he needed the memory to figure out how to fix it. Dean wasn’t willing for Cas to use any of the limited powers he still retained – he needed them to survive.  

Taking a long pull from the alcohol, he yanked open the drawer in front of him and pulled out his first aid kit. Pausing for a slight second to shake his head at the fact that their lives were so screwed up that they had wound dressings in their sock drawers, he sat it on the dresser and began to pull out all the makings for stitches, butterfly clips and bandages. 

Slower, and more careful now that he had no audience, Dean reached down and pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it at his feet. Eyeing the ripped and blood-soaked t-shirt he lamented that another one of his favorites has to be thrown out - it was beyond saving. He also knew, even without looking down at his chest, the amount of blood meant his injuries would not be a quick fix. 

Picking up his supplies and alcohol, he made his way across the room. Sitting gingerly on the end of his bed, he finally looked down at his chest injuries. Ouch. No wonder he felt like his skin was on fire and torn apart - there were several gashes on his chest and abdomen that would need more than a few stitches. 

The worst one though ran down the side of his ribs. Dean had managed to keep it closed over by limiting his body movements, but after trying to prove his capability, it was now gaping open and would require at least a dozen stitches. He felt liquid slide down his hip and looked further down to see blood had once again begun seeping out of the bottom of the wound - he needed to get it sewn up quickly.

Taking a deep breath and a large pull of the scotch bottle, he set to work, slowly and carefully taking care of the wounds. If he had to stop every few minutes and have another drink, well there was no one there to judge. 

Over two hours and a nearly empty bottle of scotch later, Dean was crawling into his bed. Not bothering with a shirt - it would only hurt like a bitch he reasoned - he pulled the sheet up over his boxers-clad body and let out a huge sigh of pain-filled relief. The scotch had taken the edge off the pain from his injuries but could do nothing for the guilt at the way he had treated Cas. 

Slipping into a restless doze, his memories of today replayed what his conscious mind wanted to bury as deep as possible.

The Warehouse – abandoned, but not as empty as they had thought.

Why had he not checked that last room?

Struggling to his feet after being knocked into a wall by the Djinn – the force of which was unusual – he was not paying attention to the room behind him. Watching as the attention of the Djinn now switched to Sam, he straightened up and walked forward, intent on ending that son-of-a-bitch while he was distracted. 

As he took a step forward, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Which was strange – hadn’t they cleared the warehouse? Djinn are never in pairs, so he was not expecting anyone to come up behind him. As he tried to turn, he felt magic flow over him and render his body frozen except his eyes. Unable to call out, he could only watch as Sam fought the Djinn unaware of Dean predicament.

Movement from the corner of his eye revealed a tall, thin brunette with a knowing smirk walking out from the shadows to stand in front of him. Dean took in the necklace hanging from her neck and the tattoo on her arm, and he knew; a goddamn Witch! He hated Witches! Eyes glancing over at Sam he could tell from the angle Sam was fighting, his back now to Dean, he couldn’t see him or the witch - until he had changed position or killed the Djinn, Dean was on his own. 

Glancing back at the Witch in front of him, he noticed the slightly manic expression in her eyes. A faint whispering in his ear startled him, but knowing there was nobody else physically near him, he figured it had to be the Witch. He ignored the voice and narrowed his eyes at the now whispering Witch, the rage in them conveying great violence once he was set free. The Witch seemed unfazed and carried on. The voice in his ear began to sound more demanding, and he finally allowed himself to split his attention and listen to what it was reciting. If it were a spell then at least he’d be able to tell Sam the words so they could figure out how to reverse it. 

He soon realized that this was no ordinary spell. No, it was more like a promise, and a threat all rolled up into flowery poetry. He struggled to remember the words for later but had no trouble with deciphering the meaning. The bitch was placing a ward on him; the purpose of which nearly made his knees buckle regardless of his frozen body. The ramifications of breaking the ward were horrific. The Witch was using his close friendship with Cas to kill the Angel - and Dean would be the one pulling the trigger!

The witch was quite gleeful as she explained the details of the ward and how she would be the one to kill Dean Winchester and his pet Angel and make Harry suffer. Then Rowena would help her kill Sam and Rowena’s son Crowley, and they would take over.

Damn it! Freaking Rowena, should have known. After following that thought with a million ways to kill Rowena slowly and painfully, he watched the witch complete the spell and then step closer to him. Leaning in to Dean’s ear, the Witch whispered, “You can not tell a soul of this spell, the Ward will stop you. Not Harry, not Sam, not even your Angel friend can save you now! Oh, this is going to be so much fun to watch and enjoy!” Chuckling softly, she ran her finger down Deans’ cheek and slipped off into the shadows. 

Looking to Sam, he could see the Djinn was on its’ knees trying to summon more power to its’ fingertips, but Sam ganked it before it could finish. 

As the Djinn fell face down, Dean stumbled forward; he was able to move again. Walking in a daze towards Sam, ignoring what the Witch had said, he opened his mouth to tell him what happened and felt a great pain in in his chest. Dean staggered, grunting, Sam calling his name; asking what was wrong. He couldn’t get breath to reply, so he tried again, too stubborn to quit. He just got out ‘sp’ when crippling pain danced across his ribs, reverberating to his head causing him to blackout – the last thing he saw was Sam rushing to catch him yelling his name. 

Wrenching his eyes open to the sight of his bedroom ceiling - the blinding pain in his head confirming he was awake - his next memories assaulted him of the journey back to the Bunker.

After coming around in the backseat of his Baby, Dean was assaulted with Sam and his mother hen questioning. He managed to talk Sam out of visiting the hospital, improvising that the Djinn hit him harder than he thought. Constantly reassuring Sam that while he was winded after being thrown through the wall, he would be fine after some sleep and a patch up.  

Now contrary to what most people thought, Dean was no dummy. He had figured out what was going on - processing it over in his brain in the car while Sam drove as quickly as he could; only after being threatened with death should he scratch his Baby. 

Dean came to the conclusion that two things had to happen at the same time to activate the ward. 

First, the touch of the Angel whose Grace the ward was keyed into. Due to Cas raising Dean from Hell, he left behind some of his Grace – helping Dean to heal faster than normal and enabling the Angel to find Dean anywhere.

The second part of it seemed to be that the ward also needed certain deep emotions from the wearer to complete the activation. The ward must be able to feel an emotional connection between that of the wearer and the Angel; the depth of the emotion determines the power of the ward.

Dean assumed Cas couldn’t detect the ward as it was his Grace that was keyed into it. Once the Ward is activated, it starts draining that Angel of their Grace until they are stripped bare. Unaware of it until towards the end, they are powerless to stop it. Once the ward has completely drained the Angel, it would fold in on itself tethering the Angel to the wearer and self-destructing.

At least that was all his own theory based on the flowery crap the bi..Witch had sprouted. He would have to check some of the Latin words he didn’t know for a full translation, but until then he would not allow Cas to come anywhere near him. The deeply hidden emotions he felt for the Angel, and Cas’ affinity to put his hand on Deans’ shoulder, would activate the ward quicker than Cas could teleport. He can’t reveal the ward - trying that with Sam had caused him to blackout, and what happens if he did that and Cas touched him unknowingly; he would never forgive himself. Damn Rowena! Although she didn’t put the ward on him herself, it was an extension of her that this happened. 

He briefly entertained the thought of summoning Rowena to remove the ward, but dismissed it almost immediately - Rowena would probably be only too happy to add more spells to the ward, just to spite him. Yeah, not going to happen.

Mouth dry, body screaming fire, and his head upping the ante on the war drums, he slowly made his way to the kitchen. He realized halfway there he had no shirt on. Oh well, he shrugged; it was after 3 am so nobody would be around to see him. 

He rubbed his hands along his arms absently, musing on the fact that he felt no different than he had before the ward. Well in terms of magic at least; physically and mentally, now that was another ballgame. 

Who would expect him to be okay? He is a walking time bomb for both himself and his Angel and, at this point, was completely alone in this.

Dean scoffed, _His Angel_. Dean knew he shouldn’t refer to Cas as his because he wasn’t a piece of property, nor was he Deans - unfortunately.

He would always refer to him as his Angel in his thoughts though, unable to help himself. Typical Winchester luck - he was just getting ready to man up and talk to Cas, and now, well, he didn’t see the point. 

Dean shook his head clear of those thoughts as he crossed the threshold into the kitchen - no sense dwelling on what will never be - rubbing his chest, subconsciously noting it was over his heart. Sighing deeply, he opened the cupboard silently. Reaching up for a glass was an ordeal in itself; his body was really getting too old for this crap. 

Closing the cupboard and padding over to the sink he momentarily paused. Hang on, who the hell was Harry? They didn’t know anyone called Harry. How would killing Sam, Cas and him be revenge for this Harry? Pondering that thought, he reached over and turned on the tap, watching the water fill the glass.

Dean suddenly stopped, cursing himself softly for being an idiot and, putting aside all thoughts about this Harry person, turned his thoughts to how this ward affected Cas.

He was putting Cas, and Sam, in danger by remaining at the bunker. Dean didn’t care about himself - his brother and Angel were more important.

He had to leave the bunker – had to get as far away as possible. Dean couldn’t have Sam come along because if the Witch decided to activate the ward without Cas, he wanted Sam safe with Cas.

With a renewed sense of determination, Dean drank the entire glass of water, going back for a few refills. He washed and dried his glass, returning it to its rightful place; Cas was very funny about things being neat - it was kind of adorable. No. He locked down that train of thought and headed back to his room to pack everything he needed. 

Dean paused in front of his bedroom door and drew a deep breath in, wincing at the pain. Glancing down the hallway towards Cas’ door, he decided that he would take a quick peek. He was, more than likely, never going to see Cas again and, while that set off pain in his chest again, he knew it was the right thing to do; the only thing he could do to keep him safe. 

Softly opening Cas’ door, he made his way to the bed, eyes on the sleeping Angel the entire time. He stood next to the bed, drinking him in; committing him to memory one last time. Taking a deep breath and releasing silently, his hand twitched by his side. This will be the only chance he has to do this – he was sure Cas had to consciously touch Dean for the ward to activate. Dean touching him shouldn’t matter - so long as the Angel didn’t stir.

Unable to stop himself and assuming that the Angel was probably deeply asleep - despite having some of his powers, Cas was still recovering from a hunt a few weeks before that left him in bad shape - he gently ran his fingers through the dark, perpetually messy, hair. So soft; he’d always wanted to feel what it was like, but that overstepped the friends’ boundaries. 

Moving his hand lower, his fingertips grazed the smooth cheek then the stubble along his jawline. Dean almost groaned out loud at the feel of his Angel - he would never have this opportunity again and, although he knew that it would hurt more knowing, he couldn’t resist it. His eyes fell on Cas’ lips - slightly parted, air rushing in and out with every breath. Deciding to take the chance and be a little selfish for once, he leaned down - barely feeling the pain through the anticipation in his body - and gently touched his lips to the gorgeous Angel; the barely-there touch not waking him. He felt a jolt, similar to an electric shock, pass through his body as he felt the soft, slightly chapped lips beneath his; Dean could feel Cas breathing into his mouth. Knowing he was risking Cas waking up the longer he explored, he forced himself to straighten up and withdraw his hand. Lips tingling and a faint feeling of arousal low in his stomach, Dean scrubbed his hand down his face in frustration - noting the faint smell of cinnamon and flowers; Cas had been in his garden out the back of the bunker. 

His eyes moved reluctantly away from the bed to the side table, seeing a frame for the first time - it wasn’t there the last time he had been in here. The picture it held was one of the three of them Jody had taken just a few weeks ago at her place for the BBQ. He didn’t even realize that Cas had a copy of it; he had never seen the photo results. Sam was laughing with his arm around Deans’ shoulder and a beer in his hand. Deans arm was around Cas’ shoulders, his eyes not on the camera in front of him, but the Angel next to him. Cas had snaked his arm around Deans’ waist and had thrown his head back in laughter at something Sam has said; he doesn’t remember now. He just remembered seeing Cas’ face light up, and the feel of the arm around his waist and couldn’t resist looking at him. 

Damn Jody for seeing that weakness. Feeling horrible, but knowing that he needed it; Dean took the frame and quietly removed the picture. Glancing at the photo one more time, he carefully put it in his pocket. Glancing at the bed for the last time, he whispered goodbye to his Angel, then turned and crept silently out of the bedroom, pulling the door closed without a sound. Now knowing what Cas felt and tasted like, his pain was worse; he was never going to feel that again, and he would never feel Cas’ hands on him. Choking on a silent sob, he willed his anguish away and proceeded to pack his bags; he could dwell on those thoughts later.

Baby’s door creaked in the garage, reminding Dean to put some oil on her hinges. Throwing his two bags in the backseat, he slid behind the wheel and sighed deeply. He would text Sam and Cas later and just say he needed some time away. Sam was always at him to sort himself out so he knew he could postpone Sam for some time. Cas on the other hand - he may have to put up angel warding to stop him popping in unannounced. Despite the carvings on his ribs, the Angel always seemed to know where to find Dean; a side affect from having some of his Grace it seemed. 

Sighing again he put Baby into drive and slowly, almost as if Baby knew he was doing this reluctantly, the car exited the bunker garage and was soon eating up the tarmac. Dean had no clue where he was going or what he was going to do. All he knew was that he had to keep Cas safe and alive - Dean being around jeopardized that, so he took himself out of the equation. 

Slamming a cassette tape into the radio, Dean pushed away all thoughts as he leaned back in his seat, planted his foot on the accelerator and settled in for a long drive.


End file.
